


ArtOlogy University

by EsculentEvil



Category: Adventure Time
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Anxiety, Explicit Language, F/F, F/M, Fear, Gay Jokes, Guitars, M/M, Marshall Lee's Bubble Butt, Panic, Past Abuse, Polyamory, Self-Hatred, Self-body shaming, Semi-Gender Fluid, Suggestive Themes, Technically Crossdressing, self-image issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-13
Updated: 2017-11-23
Packaged: 2019-01-16 01:08:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12332430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EsculentEvil/pseuds/EsculentEvil
Summary: Marshall Lee, an Advanced Music Major, and Bubba Loo, a Psychology Major, are roommates for a year at AOU, "A School that Studies Art (Scientifically)". As the two students live together, their pasts and problems become unwillingly revealed; and, despite the numerous cases of resistance from both parties, they find themselves constantly healing and strengthening each other—all while falling in love.ABANDONDED.





	1. Room 0735

**Author's Note:**

> Please do NOT read this fanfic if you are sensitive to reading about a character remembering emotional and/or psychological abuse enacted on them when they were a child. Or if you are sensitive to depictions of sexual abuse/assault on a minor.
> 
> I DO NOT APPROVE OF NOR CONDONE SUCH ACTIONS.
> 
> I just enjoy exploring the darkness of reality through fiction and think it is a safe medium for such explorations.  
> I invite you to join me if you think you can handle it.

Marshall Lee Petrikov is 17 years old.

Fresh out of high school and about to begin his first semester at his chosen university, he stands nervously before the door of his temporary sleeping space for the next year (Or more...). It is as though he is trying to stare it down. The numbers **0735** glare back at him, however, foreboding and unfeeling. They do not make him feel at all welcome. Swallowing down his anxiety in response to this, the chocolate-skinned 1 young man glances warily at the silver, embossed key draped around his neck. It is attached to a thin, silver chain from which the university's name and logo, _ArtOlogy_ and _AOU_ , glitter back at him in white and gold.

(But why **glitter**?)

The key itself is actually a card, long and smooth, which is designed to fit into the door's equally glittery slot. It goes in without a hitch, despite the raven-haired teen's shaky hands, and a very standard green light blinks at him when he pulls the card key out with a jerk. Warily, the black-clad teen pushes open the dorm-room's door and peers inside with orange hued eyes. As he begins to take in the interior, he mentally wonders why he's feeling nauseous and expecting some crazed loon to jump out at him at any moment.

He's **early** , damn it.

Classes start in _ArtOlogy_ on September 1 st—a very standard date regardless of how odd it is that the first is a bloody Monday—and he's entering on August 20th, a Wednesday well over a week before the start of term. Technically, it is not yet time for students to be moving in; but, as a student of _special circumstances_ , Marshall Lee was allowed to begin moving in before everyone else. He was even given the option of choosing his move-in date as long as it was after the middle of August as that's when the staff starts moving in, too.

He literally chose the date his dorm was scheduled to open ('Cause, as much as I wanted to leave that hell hole, I wanted to be able to **shower** , **shit** , and **piss** , too, damn it.).

This is why he is unsure why he is hesitating so much. His roommate, he knows, is not _special circumstances_ so he obviously wouldn't be waiting for him behind the door, or anything like that. Maybe he is wary of finding the dorm master—a teacher supposedly by the name of Jake Anima—and being forced to tour around with him.

Who really knows?

Regardless: these are the reasons Marshall Lee's heart literally leaps into his throat when blue and orange eyes meet.

* * *

Footnote:  

1 This idea, while not fitting for a vampire, is ~~an important plot device~~ based on the fact that Marshall Lee's voice actor, Donald Glover, is dark/chocolate-skinned. Besides, dark skinned people burn in the sun, too.


	2. Major Reasons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Marshall Lee curses a lot.  
> Gumball is still hella pink.  
> Remember to keep the previous warnings in mind even if they aren't relevant to all chapters.

(It's like staring into the night sky through an ocean of sapphires...)

It's probably the weirdest thought he's ever had of someone, but, seriously, what else is he supposed to think to avoid having a conniption in a situation like this? It's days before anyone  _normal_  is supposed to be moving in and here he is, Marshall Lee Petrikov, in room 0735—boy's dorm—accompanied. (What the absolute  **fuck** , dude...) The accompanying male is young, tall—reaching nearly half a head higher than Marshall Lee—and lean with subtle muscles hiding beneath seemingly soft, pale, pink-toned skin. A crisp, white, button-up with short sleeves covers most of his upper half while a pair of light pink dress pants held up by a gold buckled, burgundy belt covers his lower half. White socks, tiny gold piercings in his earlobes, a single gold pinky ring, and a delicate set of pale pink glasses complete his gentle and studious look.

The perfectly coiffed mass of pink hair on his head, oddly, both suits this image and clashes with it.

Cobalt blue eyes, bright and happy, blink at the room's new occupant before a wide and joy-filled smile graces the living doll's face (Seriously, this guy looks like a friggin' Ken doll dipped in pink!), “Hello! You must be my roommate! Petrikov, right?” He quietly sets down the books he had been pulling out of his shopping bag—also baring the glittery ArtOlogy logo—so he can properly speak to his company. “I'm Bubba Loo Gummel! It's nice to meet you!” He crosses the room while speaking, stopping in front of Marshall Lee at the door, before holding out his hand politely and expectantly.

His new roomie just stares.

(Fuck.) The syllable repeats over and over in Marshall Lee's head, getting louder and louder as his panic increases. (He's here! Why is he here?!) He isn't supposed to be; at least, not to Marshall Lee. Early entrance is supposed to be for students that need special assistance (There's no way this kid needs that!), need special placement (You can't be serious!), or need special time frames (Why?!). Marshall Lee, oddly, falls into the latter two categories: he is an advanced Music Major—which means he is studying at ArtOlogy for more than one musical genre—and a Psychology Minor—which basically means he will be doing collaborations with actual Psych Majors in order to study the affect of music on the brain—so he counts as special time frames; tack on the fact that he needs to supplement himself with an on campus job (Which has been slipped in as my co-op class; thank you, Kouki[1](https://www.tumblr.com/edit/166579851490#sdfootnote1sym)!) and he ends up with special placement, too.

Or maybe it's the other way around.

Either way, judging by his crisp and golden appearance, the very pink Bubba Loo is riding on the coattails of very rich parents and wouldn't need to touch a minimum wage job (or any job) for the rest of his life unless he wants to know what it's like to be a  _normal person_. That means he wouldn't need a special time frame. Special placement might be a thing—he certainly seems studious enough for that—but why...? Instantly, the answer hits Marshall Lee like a freight train and he whimpers quietly. (O, no; please no...) “Are you... a Psych Major?”

Bubba Loo blinks innocently, “Why, yes, I am... How ever did you know?”

… (Fuck.) 

* * *

Footnote:

[1](https://www.tumblr.com/edit/166579851490#sdfootnote1anc) This is the gender-bent version of Princess Cookie. I made her both transgender (as, technically, Princess Cookie was a guy and therefore  _should have been_   **Prince**  Cookie; the blatant disregard of this is something I wanted to carry into the bend) and the guidance counselor of the Uni because PC wanted to help people and make them happy like Bubblegum.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay: so the chapter's only about 100 words longer... but that's still something, right?  
> I'm aiming to update every Friday, by the by. Hope to see you next week!


	3. Moving In

“So... You are a Music Major?”

“Advanced.” Marshall Lee, to his chagrin, is still shaking as he lugs his guitar bag, messenger bag, suitcase, and laptop bag inside room 0735. He sets the suitcase against the large wardrobe in the left corner (Bubba seems to like the right side of the room...), swings his messenger bag at the left desk, sets his laptop bag on the desk's chair, and then carefully places his guitar bag—covered in band stickers like _Emerald Day_ and _My Asexual Romance—_ on his bed. “And a Psych Minor.” He keeps his eyes to himself and his side of the room while speaking, “Which is how I guessed. You must be the person helping me with the neurology of music... or whatever...” He trails off as he realizes there will be no avoiding or ignoring his roommate like he'd hoped to do.

(Glob, I won't even be able to use collaborating as an excuse! He'll know 'c'use **he** 's who I'm fucking working with!)

Extremely alarmed by this, Marshall Lee almost shoots through the roof as Bubba Loo comes up behind him and cheerfully declares, “O, how exciting! I'm a Medical Minor, too, so I should really be able to help you!” He claps his large but slender hands together with a gleeful grin, “Ah! And you can help me, too! I wasn't sure what I'd focus my own studies on; but, this sounds truly fascinating! If I provide the mind and you provide the music, we're sure to give a smashing presentation!”

Marshall Lee just stares incredulously.

Inside his chest, his heart is racing like a little speed demon; the damned thing refuses to stop or relax. He still tries to make it, of course: clasping a frightened hand to his chest while inching away from the other boy. Bubba Loo doesn't seem to notice any of this, however, apparently too busy envisioning their collaboration together. His cobalt eyes are bright and almost as glittery as the logos surrounding them. It sends a spike of liquid ice down Marshall Lee's spine.

(That.. is just **creepy**...)

Strangely (Not like there's anything normal about this boy...), it is not the smaller teen's **distance** that catches the pink-haired one's attention but his **silence**. The previously cheerful boy stops _aaah_ ing after a moment of it and gazes almost curiously at his roommate. When, he speaks, his voice is soft and sweet—like candy, “Is something the matter?”

Marshall Lee hastily shakes his head.

The pink doll frowns gently at the raven, appearing to disbelieve him. Orange-hued eyes fall away in response, their panicked gaze darting about before suddenly alighting upon the bookshelf across the way; he idly notes all the theoretical books and pink binders stacked on tiers beneath his own favorite Shakespeare, _As You Like It_ , all while straining his ears for any sound or movement—he does not trust this sweet child.

No: not even if Bubba Loo seems to be innocent and true.

(They always do.)

* * *

 

The rest of Marshall Lee's move-in day is a predominantly stressful and tense affair.

Bubba Loo continues to attempt conversation while putting his things away regardless of the silence Marshall Lee attempts to maintain. The rest of his bookstore booty is carefully removed from their glittery prisons and placed delicately upon the right side's shelf. Several knickknacks accompany them—most of which are pink or white—and a gold clock is placed in the hollow of the right side's headboard. A pink laptop with a white, swirling logo (… Is that supposed to be a **lollipop**?) already sits primly on his desk and his multitude of pink outfits are already hanging in the right closet.

Marshall Lee suspects the boy's toiletries are also already set out.

A bit perturbed by this pink perfectionist, the black-clad teen decides to drag his suitcase into his own closet (Wow, we have space for a **walk-in**? What the ass...?), flick the light switch, and close the door. The sudden quiet relaxes him. He closes his eyes and breathes out his anxiety, choosing to sit tiredly on his suitcase rather than empty it. He doesn't have much to unpack, anyway.

(What am I going to do...?)

He remembers to take slow, steady breaths as he contemplates this. His dorm mate is also the person with which he has to collaborate; he's a bright and cheerful child that obviously wants to **befriend** him ([insert creeped out shiver here]); and he's a pink blob of sweet goo. (What even **is** there to do?) he asks himself while sighing heavily through his nose. Reopening his eyes, he stares at the empty closet space around him and blinks.

Then he scuffs softly, (Well damn: I'm hiding in the closet.).

Amused at himself, Marshall Lee shakes his head and lifts himself off his suitcase. Setting it down on its back and opening it, the chocolate-skinned teen sets about pulling out his small collection of clothes: a week's worth of black tanks, several over-sized Ts, different colored flannels (a red, a gray, a black, a yellow, a blue, and an orange), a black hoodie, several black jeans, and a bundled up red sweater with black stripes that he immediately stuffs into the darkest corner he can find; in contrast, however, a single white wool jacket with light blue snowflake designs ends up carefully hung like a prize in the light.

Once done, he glances down at his underwear and frowns.

Deciding that he'd rather change in his closet than risk anything being seen by this strange candy being, Marshall Lee inhales deeply, steadies himself, and then leaves the walk-in. He finds the pink-haired teen humming to himself at his desk. His voice is surprisingly soothing—both deep and gentle in a way that tingles and warms his heart—which causes the chocolate-skinned teen to blush. Turning his back to the other in an attempt to hide his red reaction, Marshall Lee focuses his attention on getting the wardrobe into his closet.

(Just... ignore the angel humming behind you, dude...)

O, Glob, now the sweet teen is an angel; (Marshall Lee, you are so **fucked**.).


	4. The Closet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: Marshall Lee’s bubble butt and his corresponding wardrobe; controversial topics such as gay jokes, hints at past abuse, and technical cross-dressing/gender fluidity (he just wears what works with his butt); dark themes such as self loathing/hate, self body shaming, self image issues, anxiety, fear, and panic. I'll be building on these ideas/themes later.

The sound of the musician dragging his wardrobe across the floor catches Bubba Loo's attention easily. 

The pink-haired boy turns around curiously and, upon seeing the cause, smiles gently. A moment later, he is standing on the other side of the furniture with a slightly amused—but still kind—expression. He takes hold of the large object and pushes with the other's pulls in order to help him move it into his...

Blue eyes blink, “You're moving this to your closet?”

Orange-hued orbs widen and glance up; their owners, by the looks of it, had not even noticed the helping hand until it spoke. A red flush immediately surfaces underneath sunset eyes and the dark-skinned boy quickly looks away. He nods, though, hesitantly and fidgets with the wardrobe hinge near his hand.

(Why the hell am I so... like  **this**?)

It's unusual, he easily notes: under normal circumstances, Marshall Lee is very aloof—playing the part of the cool, arguably sexy, and quite possibly antisocial kid that's wicked awesome but too terrifying to be around because of the crazy shit the kid likes to do—to the point of coming across as cold or simply untouchable; and yet, here, this sweet stranger is reducing him to shyness and  **blushing**. (Of all damn things!) Why?

As Bubba Loo smiles gently at him, Marshall Lee can only assume it is because of how kind he is.

This kindness, which usually makes him wary, is warm and welcoming. It is as though the other boy is inviting him in without requesting anything. And perhaps that is the trick: this boy, whom is large and loaded, is willing to help some dark demon he just met without expecting anything in return.

And people that smile and reach out to him  **always**  expect  **something**  from Marshall Lee.

And, usually, that something is even more antisocial than he wishes it to be. 

* * *

By the time they manage to get the wardrobe in the closet, Marshall Lee is tired and Bubba Loo is observant.

If he is at all concerned about the limited clothing his roommate has, he does not act it. Instead, he smiles at the shocks of color among the black sea. That smile becomes a warm grin, however, when he sees the obvious love and care involved with the placement of the other's white, winter-themed wool jacket. His expression, of course, catches Marshall Lee's attention when the other goes to embarrassedly thank him.

The dark-skinned boy immediately blushes again.

As he silently sputters, caught between his thanks and his mortification, Bubba Loo grins a bit more and chuckles before nodding, “You're welcome, Marshall Lee!” After gently informing the smaller teen that he'll be on his computer and available for anything else the darker boy might need help with, the pink-haired angel goes back to his desk and resumes... whatever it was he was doing.

Probably studying.

After taking a moment to helplessly try and reduce his blush, Marshall Lee turns back to his half-empty suitcase and starts to set up his wardrobe. He packs his underwear neatly and discreetly, rolling them up in the hopes of hiding the fact that they're really meant for female bottoms. His pants are also meant for girls but, admittedly, that isn't nearly as obvious as the package-less, seamless panties.

Once the black, microfiber articles that actually  **fit**  his damned bubble butt are put away, he throws his socks in with much less care.

After that, he pulls out his large but foldable make-up mirror (My literal Best Friend when I have a gig, audition, or exam.) and sets it into the large, upper part of the wardrobe. Adding a little radio to help him keep time in the mornings and a little battery pack for his mirror, as there's no outlet in most closets, he begins to relax and unflush in the comfort of his own space.

Idly wondering if moving his desk in here would be suspicious, he eventually decides that he can just hide in here with his laptop if Bubba Loo isn't around when he slips away.

Satisfied with that thought, Marshall Lee grabs his toiletry bag and takes a deep, fortifying breath before exiting the closet (Yea, yea: insert gay joke here.) and heading towards the shared bathroom. The door for it stands between the two desks on the wall opposite the dorm-room's entrance. Bubba Loo smiles and waves briefly as he passes by; he then returns to his laptop.

Marshall Lee just nods nervously.

He slips into the bathroom and shuts the door, trying to stay the shaking of his hands and heart. It hardly works, of course, but—as always—he still tries. Swallowing thickly and reminding himself to  **breathe** , the chocolate-skinned teen unzips his toiletry bag and makes his way to the counter. Several items are already there (… A princess themed toothbrush? Gumball toothpaste? Pink hair brushes, curlers, and combs? What the... This guy's gayer than I—!) and the thoughts they produce freeze even his breath.

(No. He won't. There's... there's no way...)

Inhaling shakily, Marshall Lee slams his own teal toothbrush onto the counter, not bothering with removing it from its Ziploc, and desperately tries to banish the terrifying thoughts from his head. He throws in his own sensitive toothpaste for good measure. His hair comb is a bright teal and always in his pocket so he doesn't pull it out. His hair is always towel dried so he leaves the hot pink blow drier alone.

Deciding that he'll moisturize his body in his closet, he turns and adds his soap, shampoo, and conditioner to the shelving unit in the (Woa... this thing is  **huge**...) bathtub before leaving.

Bubba Loo is where he left him—thankfully. Unthankfully, his thoughts are, too. This causes the glittery smile sent his way to douse him in ice water and disable his own smile back. He can't even return the sweet hello with a mumbled one.

Try as he might, he just can't chase away the pervading thought; the dread; the doubt.

So, he runs away, again.


	5. Eating Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jake/Cake/Monochromicorn/Rainicorn finally comes in/is explained!
> 
> Warning: Marshall Lee's mouth/mind, suggestive comments/themes, panic/anxiety

They don't talk about it.

Instead, Bubba Loo types swiftly on his laptop while Marshall Lee sets up his. He tries to focus on his task, on the fact that he needs to go to the library and see which of his theoretical books he  **doesn't**  have to buy before heading over to the bookstore to do just that, or even on what to eat later at dinner. (Should I go to the cafeteria or out for a fast fuc—)

He quickly slaps his mind shut.

As it turns out, however, his internal debate is solved by the dorm's resident pink prince. After he's set up his laptop, slipped his suitcase into a dark corner of his closet/den/dressing room, double checked the safety of his precious guitar, and grabbed his messenger bag, the sweet teen suddenly stops typing and turns to him. His smile is still gentle and warm but his cobalts reflect Marshall Lee's hours of anxiety and jitteriness rather than their previous calm, “Are you hungry, Marshall Lee?”

The chocolate-skinned teen stares, frozen completely.

“Because I know I am!” The pink-haired boy stands quickly and eagerly makes his way to his roommate. “I'm having supper with the dorm master—he's an old friend of my sister—in the cafeteria this evening!” He grins endearingly and hopefully at the smaller teen as he pauses and leans over his dark figure, “Would you care to join us?”

The answer  _no_  is on the tip of his tongue.

“... Sure,” comes out, instead.

 

* * *

 

The cafeteria is eerily empty when they arrive.

Marshall Lee is sure that this is just because it is still, technically, early and vast majority of the people that the large room was designed for are not yet here. Regardless, the dorm master in question jogs up to them from the other entrance across from them and waves as eagerly as Bubba Loo waves back. The two greet each other with a familiarity that almost makes their third wheel uncomfortable; instead, it just surprises him.

(Maybe he's good friends with this guy, too? That wouldn't be weird, right?)

Shrugging the thoughts off—and still fighting to  **not**  think what he'd been thinking before in 0735—the chocolate-skinned teen waves silently at the adult—Jake Anima—when Bubba Loo introduces them before nodding and following after them. As they wait for their orders, having not had to wait in line since no one else was there, Jake and Bubba talk enthusiastically to each other with Bubba Loo offering random tidbits of information to Marhsall Lee whom has no background with either of them.

The guitarist just quietly listens.

Like this, he finds out some interesting things. Like, for example, Bubba Loo's sister is named Bonnie Belle, is some kind of secretary, and is a few years older than Bubba, himself. The two of them grew up as the neighbors of Jake and a woman by the name of Katelyn. The four of them used to play with each other all the time after school—or work, when they got older—to the point that they gave each other codenames: Gumball, Bubblegum, Bulldog, and Cake.

They mentioned a Rainbow and Monochrome, too, but there was no expansion on either.

Not that Marhsall Lee minded. The story was already weird enough to him. Granted, the name Gumball kind of works for his new roommate but... (GumBALL is a bit... suggestive, isn't it...?) Somehow, Marshall Lee doesn't like it. (He's too... perfect... ah,  **princely**  for such a provocative name. It should have been something like Pinken. You know, like a pink Ken doll? Pink Ken?)

He giggles to himself.

Probably assuming Marshall Lee is reacting to the actual conversation in front of him, Bubba Loo smiles happily at his fellow student and proceeds to recant more tales of his not so distant youth. Marshall Lee tries to listen, honestly, but he gets a bit distracted by Cake. The girl, not the dessert.

“So...  _Cake_... is  **whose**  girlfriend?” he inquires, having thought she was dating the adult sitting with them.

“Oh!” Jake grins proudly, clearly happy about his relationship status, “She~ is~  **my** ~ girlfriend~! But she's also Moe's and Raina's.” He digs into the satchel beside him, shoving past folders and digging beyond papers to find his cellphone. He pulls it out with a triumphant cry and taps it open before showing Marshall Lee the screen. “Here: these are us!”

The chocolate-skinned teen peers at the little screen, curious and confused.

A stout and curvaceous woman with skin a little darker than Marshall Lee's stares back at him from the center of the picture with a wide, enthusiastic grin. Her eyes are a shocking green and almost catlike in pupil shape. Her hair, surprisingly pale blonde, is highlighted by light brown and streaks of white—although, whether these are signs of age or not are debatable.

Beside her is another woman whom is tall and thin. She has rainbow colored hair, hinting at which codename she bares, and crystal clear amethyst eyes. Her skin is a warm yellow that speaks of sunshine and contrasts beautifully with her purple orbs. A soft smile, whimsical and light, curves her glossed lips  and displays the affection trapped in the proverbial frame.

On Cake's other side is an even taller man with black hair and extremely dark skin, beating out both him and her for the title of true dark chocolate. The one most likely to be codenamed Monochrome has surprisingly bright—almost white—blue eyes and the quietest yet most loving smile Marshall Lee has ever seen. He comes across as the strong and silent type that's really reliable and his lean muscles are rather obvious even under his clothing.

As the two tower over the green-eyed female, Jake the Bulldog hugs them all together from behind her, completing the picture.

Blinking, Marshall Lee slowly raises his eyes and his brows to show his surprise. He stares rather disbelievingly at the older male for several seconds before finally putting his confusion into words, “... Are you... in a  **foursome**?” His question, apparently, makes Bubba Loo blush shyly and look away. It's as though such a simple inquiry where too much for his virginal mind. (Hell, maybe it  **is**.)

This assuages some of Marshall's own, unvirginal, worries.

Jake, of course, chuckles. He looks at his young friend affectionately before turning back to Marshall Lee. He pauses, seeming to think for a moment, before nodding and shrugging amicably, “You could say that and we wouldn't mind it; but, really, we're a poly-amorous romance.” He smiles gently and then playfully, “And we're a healthy one, so don't you go trying to steal one of 'em from me!”

Marshall Lee just snorts, “Not interested.”

The dorm master grins and nods at him, “Good; then I think we'll get along just fine.”

 

* * *

 

After that, supper became dinner.

Jake and Bubba Loo conversed for hours with each other, catching up on things while sharing others, until the sky began to darken with sunset. Marshall Lee had simply watched them, predominately more interested in their interaction and what information he could gain from them about them. These were things he needed to know—or, at least, things his sense of self-preservation  **thought**  he needed to know. Whether or not Jake is interested in more than the one man he already has shouldn't really be an issue as it's rather obvious Marshall Lee's too young for him. Exactly how gay his new roommate is also shouldn't be an issue as, despite his obvious love for pink, his reactions to anything remotely sexual seem to paint him as a prime candidate for asexuality.

Still, Marshall can't help but worry.

He's going to be stuck in a room, for copious amounts of time,  **alone**  with this guy; and then he has to work on his end of the year presentation with him, too. Marshall Lee suddenly pales (End of the year...) as he realizes what that actually means. (I... have to live, study, and  **sleep**  with this  **guy**... for a  **whole YEAR**?) Feeling a bit shaky, the chocolate-skinned teen abruptly stands with an apology and the excuse that he's too tired to continue.

Bubba Loo blinks up at him, worried, “Are you going to be alright, though? Do you wish for me to come with you?”

“No!” Marshall blushes furiously and gathers up his trash as he realizes how uncool and suspicious that outburst was. He doesn't look at either male as he tries to recover his civility, “I... I'll be fine. It's cool. I just...” He glances at Bubba Loo and feels his heart do a strange swell at the concern he sees in cobalt hues. He looks away, confused, “I'll see you when you come back.”

With that, he's off, completely ignoring the other two's questioning looks.

He ignores everyone else he meets, too—regardless of how few—beyond a polite nod or two. By the time he makes it back to 0735, he's a shivering, sweating mess. Nervous beyond belief and trying to not enter a panic attack, the 17 year-old quickly enters the bathroom and locks the door. Keeping his eyes off the mirror (Seeing myself right now will so not help...), he turns on the shower while inhaling deeply through his diaphragm.

He holds it for 2 counts.

As he exhales, he pulls off his clothing, repeating the cycle with enough focus that he almost forgets how much he was sweating. As he steps into the warm spray, he pulls the black hair-tie from his black locks and flings it at the sink. Allowing the water to relax his body, he attempts to focus his mind on anything but the boy he's now rooming with.

This goes wonderfully, of course.

(I hope he doesn't snore.)


	6. Guilty Inspirations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There’s evidence that I’m a fake guitar nerd, and Marshall plays Gumball a song!  
> They grow closer and farther apart; they just keep surprising and confusing each other...  
> Beware of anxiety and panic due to Marshall misinterpreting Gumball's actions!

By the time Bubba Loo slips back into their room, Marshall Lee is clean and dressed.

With his damp hair tied back at his nape, an oversized  _What're you looking at?_  T, and thin leggings hiding everything down to his ankles, he looks an odd mix of comfortable and conservative. It's something Bubba Loo hadn't expected if his raised brows are any indication (He was probably hoping for boxers. … Or briefs. [insert shiver here]); but he smiles nonetheless and waves as he closes the door behind him.

Marshall Lee doesn't wave back.

Instead, he returns his attention to his guitar. It's an electric acoustic—versatile and perfect for all his advanced music major needs—that's slightly too large for his small frame. There's reasons for this, of course: smaller guitars (When talking acoustics, anyway...) bare higher pitched sounds than larger ones and neither he nor his adopted-mother appreciated that; aforementioned adopted-mother was the one to gift it to him, thus, turning it into a precious possession of his; and, well, the thing is so old it's like a bulky bestie that he's long since gotten used to. These are the reasons he's able to so easily maneuver his arms and hands around the beast and unintentionally mesmerize his roomie.

(Wait, what?)

Glancing up, Marshall realizes that he has, in fact, earned the undivided attention of the pink-haired angel he's now living with. The younger (I'm pretty sure he is—even if he  **is**  freakishly tall.) teen's cobalt eyes are bright and wide, seemingly gaping along with his soft pink mouth. Brows as pink as the other's coiffure are almost merging with his hairline, creating an almost comedic effect. But, far more important, is the  **look**  in his eyes: the pure, unbridled excitement like that of a child staring under a Christmas tree and allowing their mind to go  **wild**  with thoughts of what they might get.

Marshall Lee blushes furiously, “What?!”

Appearing to be slapped out of his revere, Bubba Loo blushes too—although not as heavily—and ducks his head rather apologetically, “Ah... I'm... terribly sorry, Marshall Lee... I was just...” He glances back up with those same childlike eyes and Marshall finds that he has to fight the sudden urge to hide (Or hug the stuffing out of this kid... seriously...). As the pink-haired teen struggles to explain himself, the black-clad one marvels, yet again, at how oddly accepting he is of this strange boy.

(I  **was**  just panicking like crazy an hour ago, right? What the ass happened to that?)

“Would... uhhh...” The sweet child fidgets, bright blue eyes glancing up at the guitarist and then down again. He looks legitimately nervous—scared even—and Marshall almost feels bad for snapping at him; almost. “Would it be alright if I... requested a song?”

Surprised, the chocolate-skinned teen blinks and asks, “... what... song... exactly?”

Bubba Loo smiles, perking up at the obvious offer to accept a request. He claps his hands together in front of him in a giddy display and bobs on his toes for a few seconds as he thinks before shrugging and settling onto his bed. He quickly explains himself at Marshall Lee's incredulous look, “There isn't a particular song I have in mind, really; I only know piano music off the top of my head.

“But I still would love to hear you play!”

Embarrassment: it heats the cheeks and ears of Marshall Lee. He ducks his head, letting his damp hair fall into his face after it naturally slides like silk out of his loose tie. He swallows, too, trying to calm himself down and not act like a fool.

Why is he, anyway?

Just like how he so easily drops his guard around this child, why does he heat up so much, too? Why does he feel like trusting this boy so? Is it because he's so nice? Perhaps the reason lies in his smile? In the way his eyes shine.

(They don't shine... the way  **they**  used to...)

He really likes the way Bubba Loo's do.

* * *

 

He isn't really sure what he's playing.

Really, he's just randomly strumming chords together, laying down scales like a pro, and jumping from note to note. His melody is random, almost sporadic, and probably projects his thoughts and insecurities way more than he was originally planning; but, hey:

(He's enjoying it.)

With his bright eyes closed, the smile alighting his face appears that much more prominent. The way his brows arch as they relax and lift with contented joy makes him look like a child enjoying a sweet for the very first time. And the gentle nodding of his head as he follows each measure's beats (Miraculously.) ruffles the perfectly coiffed mass on his head.

Marshall Lee swears his heart is melting.

And he doesn't know  **why**.

* * *

 

When he's done, Bubba Loo praises him.

He asks all sorts of questions: “How long have you played,” (“Not sure, really... since I was seven?”) “Who taught you,” (“Myself.”) “What's that plug for,” (“To hook up my amp; this is a classical electric guitar which'll make my exams and some of my performances easier to record for online grading.”) “Um... is that why it's so... so very large,” (“… Yea; classical guitars are generally big and bulky because they're designed to actually produce sound within its hollows as apposed to mechanically through wires and shi—stuff. … Sometimes having to plug in annoys me cuz it adds more prep time and—sometimes—I just wanna... get into it, you know?”); until it's obviously the middle of the night. When they notice, it's funny; when Bubba makes to remove his shirt, it isn't.

“What're you doing?!”

Bubba Loo turns and blinks into yellow-orange hues, obviously surprised at the panic he sees in them. Instead of commenting on it, he quietly redoes his button-up while watching Marshall Lee try to come down from his panic high with gentle eyes. When it becomes obvious that he's failing, the pink-haired boy frowns softly, “Marshall Lee?”

Chocolate hands clutch at camphor wood.

Bubba Loo sighs, “I'm terribly sorry; I didn't mean to frighten you.” He watches the smaller teen stare back with horror-filled eyes before, apparently, deciding it would be best if he gave the other some time and space. He silently points at himself and then the wardrobe, moving in clear and deliberate steps until he's able to open it and retrieve clothes from it. Once this is done, he repeats this process for the slowly calming Marshall—with the bathroom this time—until he's able to slip into it.

He showers, dries, and dresses.

When he returns to the shared sleeping space a little over half an hour later, Marshall Lee is sitting on his bed with a nervous—but thankfully not panicked—look on his apologetic face. Bubba Loo just smiles understandingly and makes his way to his own bed. He glances around, apparently looking for the classical electric. When he sees this, the black-clad teen silently answers him by gesturing at his guitar bag. The item in question is now freshly cleaned by a dry cloth—a quick and easy meditative trick Marshall learned to use a long time ago—and sitting safely away from unwanted moisture and temperatures.

Bubba Loo smiles, “I think we should look into how the sound of a guitar can lift one's spirits no matter how they felt before.”

He smiles wider as Marshall Lee blushes and nods.


	7. ArtOlogy is Now Cancelled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry.

After thinking about it—because Chapter 7, the one that is supposed to be here right now for you to read, finally starts rolling out the situations I’ve been repeatedly warning all my readers about—I’ve decided to stop writing AOU

And the reason is basically... I’m not really into Adventure Time anymore.

I still like Gumlee, and even Bubbline, but I no longer have a passion for them.

When delving into harsh, DARK topics and themes, one HAS to have passion and a genuine love for the medium(s) they are working with; and I’ve lost this.

As a result, if the content of my story, ArtOlogy University, offends someone and/or causes a backlash... I won’t have the passion and determination required to fight it, to explain myself (because I feel/felt like I never did that enough to begin with... no matter how many times I tried), or defend myself.

I’m honestly sorry to anyone who had been enjoying this fic and supportive of it (especially saraga-arts whom was the main reason I was writing it in the first place—seriously, thank you for all your kind words and assurances; even if you never actually knew the full extent this project would cover, you were vital to it), but I can only write something this heavy if I’m able to carry the strain.

Since I’m no longer able to do that... I’m copping out.

Apologies.


End file.
